


Rivers Til I Reach You

by CD (thecollective)



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Adoption, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Panic Attacks, Retirement, Romance, dad jokes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-28
Updated: 2017-06-28
Packaged: 2018-11-16 03:47:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 16,714
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11245668
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thecollective/pseuds/CD
Summary: For Sidney, retirement is just around the corner. With it comes the joys, the challenges and the nagging fear that he will never be as good at anything as he is at hockey.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [visionshadows](https://archiveofourown.org/users/visionshadows/gifts).



> To Visionshadows, I hope you enjoy this story, even if it isn't exactly what your prompts asked for! I had fun writing this and really could have written 50k more, if I'd had the time. Thanks to the mods for organizing this amazing challenge and to the Pens for the extra few days to write because, well, THEY WON THE CUP AGAIN!!
> 
> ***
> 
> This is a work of fiction. If you found this by Googling your name, turn away, sweet babe.

It doesn’t matter if it’s an off-day or not, Sidney never can sleep passed seven. His body is trained to wake up early, to get a head start on game day routines, a workout or skate session. Even on a Saturday in the summer with absolutely nothing to do, Sidney is still awake almost as soon as the sun is up. He rolls over, allowing himself to feel the creaks in his bones that come with age and the strains he usually ignores. He is getting older, he knows he’s getting older, but age has always seemed to him just another obstacle to overcome, another statistic to conquer. Instead of bothering Sidney, the idea of playing into his thirties alongside teenaged rookies has always invigorated him and made him want to work harder, not that working hard has ever been a problem for Sidney Crosby-Malkin.

“Not go,” Geno murmurs, face pressed into his pillow, hair strewn across the soft cotton like a dark halo. He tightens his grip on Sidney’s waist, but Sidney just pats his hand and slides out of bed, bending over to run his fingers through Geno’s wild hair and place a kiss on his forehead.

“Sleep more,” Sidney whispers. “I’m going to make breakfast.”

“Birthday pancakes?” Geno asks, voice low and rough.

Sidney huffs a laugh and nods in agreement. Even in his sleep, Geno is demanding, but Sidney can’t find it in himself to mind, not when his husband looks so soft and sweet, resting in the dim sunlight of their bedroom on the morning of his 40th birthday.

“Sure, G, birthday pancakes.”

Downstairs, the house is quiet and still. Sidney shuffles through the hallways, dark blue sweats hanging low on his waist, an old Stanley Cup shirt he never wears outside of the house clinging to his shoulders. In the kitchen, Sidney opens the sliding glass door and the cool breeze raises goosebumps on his arms, the musical chirps from the blue jays nesting in their elderberry trees the only audible sound. It’s summer, but Pittsburgh heat isn’t as ridiculous as Los Angeles, where he and Geno spent the last week after a whirlwind tour of Russia earlier in their summer. It feels good to be back in Pittsburgh for Geno’s birthday party. It’s been their summer routine since they got married--Moscow and Magnitogorsk for a month or so at the season’s end, a week in Los Angeles for training with Nate and Matt, then Pittsburgh for a few days at the end of July. Next week they’ll be in Cole Harbour for hockey school and Sid’s birthday and a bit of a breather before coming back to Pitt for barbecues with the Lemieuxs, media days and training camp as their friends and teammates trickle into town after a summer spent away. Even though Canada and Russia will always be home, they started to return to Pittsburgh for Geno’s birthday after they were married there, late in the summer after their third Cup win. It’s a meeting point for friends from all across the world, somewhere everyone knows belongs to both Sid _and_ Geno, a place where the people they love can come together and enjoy each other’s company before getting back to the grind of the season. This summer feels different, though, because it is a contract negotiation summer for him, THE Contract Negotiation, in Sid’s mind, surely the most important one since his rookie year. Critics have said the Crosby-Malkin legacy is on the line, wondering what Pittsburgh will do with the aging centers, but neither Sid nor Geno has been worried about his place in the Penguins organization for years. Both of them have always put the team ahead of everything and no one can deny them that. For the first time in a long time, though, Sid and Geno are making a different choice. The funny thing is, Sidney’s not ashamed or guilty of choosing his family, not this time, not anymore. They aren’t getting any younger and Sidney doesn’t want to retire because of injury or any other reason he can’t control. They’ve both worked so hard for their teams and their countries, but he’s pushing forty and both he and Geno are at the point in their lives and marriage that they are willing give up hockey,  as long as it’s on their own terms. It took months, years of back and forth before they could come to an agreement. But yesterday, on a sunny Friday afternoon in Pittsburgh, only hours after arriving in town for Geno's party, Sid signed a one-year extension with the Pens and he and Geno, who only has a year left on his most recent contract, told the front office they plan to retire at the end of the season. Earlier, with only Mario and Pat, Sid and Geno confess they’re beginning adoption proceedings, and that feels even bigger and more important than any negotiation ever could.

By the time Geno stumbles into the kitchen almost a full hour after Sid left him, Sidney has a stack of pancakes on a plate on the counter, as well as fruit, eggs and the makings for Geno’s favorite tea. Sidney pops a raspberry in his mouth, carefully flipping the last two pancakes before turning to look at his husband.

“Tea?” Geno mumbles, making grabby hands at the mug Sid holds out to him. Sidney grins.

“Add your own jam.”

“Not gross, Sid. Very good,” Geno smirks as he plops a spoonful of strawberry jam into the steaming mug. Sid wrinkles his nose and shakes his head, turning his back on Geno to slide the pancakes out of the pan and onto the plate. He flips off the gas and leans his head back when Geno moves behind him to press his face into Sid’s neck. It sends a shiver through him, tracing a path down his body. “Smell so good, baby,” Geno murmurs. His hands are warm on Sid’s sides from the mug that he places down on the counter before moving his lips close enough to Sidney’s ear that he can feel a puff of breath on his neck. “We eat first, then I fuck you into mattress.” Geno accents his words with a bite to Sid’s shoulder and Sid has to grab onto the counter when his knees go weak underneath him.

“But I made bacon,” he says nonsensically, eyes fluttering shut at the feel of Geno’s chuckle against the bare skin of his neck. At the moment, Sid can’t think of anything better than a day spent in bed with his husband, eating, fucking and watching bad television until they have to separate for the evening. He says as much into Geno’s mouth when they kiss and can feel Geno smile against his lips.

“Is deal. We eat bacon, we fuck, watch House Hunters International. Not do anything else, except maybe nap.” Geno waggles an eyebrow and leans back against the counter, one thigh slotted in between Sidney’s and takes a sip of his tea, a smirk playing at his lips that Sidney wants to taste. They kiss again, leisurely and slow, until Sidney pinches Geno’s side to remind him about the breakfast that took Sid an hour to assemble. Sitting in the dim light of the morning, they eat, ankles tangled underneath the table, stealing quick glances at one another as they dig into their food. Geno makes obscene noises around his first mouthful of pancakes.

“Very good, Sid,” he says. “You add vanilla again this time, yes?” When Sidney nods, Geno winks at him. “Sweet just like you, baby.”

“Oh my god.” Sidney rolls his eyes but smiles into his mug at the compliment. “Who told you these lines were good, really? Was it Flower? Because you can’t trust anything he says,” Sidney scoffs. It’s weak, as far as chirps go, because Sidney knows he is powerless against even the worst of Geno’s jokes.

“Flower have no good lines. His wife sad all the time because jokes so bad.” Geno makes a face and looks up at Sid through a wrinkled brow and Sid tosses his head back, laughing loud and open. It causes Geno to light up, grinning huge and bright and a little devilish. He wait a until Sidney has a mouthful of tea, then says, “Hurry up and finish food so we can go upstairs and unwrap my favorite birthday present,” rubbing his...is that his foot? Against Sid’s crotch. Sidney sputters around his sip and shamelessly shoves three raspberries in his mouth before standing up and reaching out his hand to his husband.

“Come on, then.”

In bed, Geno takes his time with Sidney.

“But it’s your birthday,” Sidney gasps. He’s naked, sweat dripping down the back of his knees as he bucks against Geno’s face, which is buried in the meat of his ass. Geno flicks his tongue deep into Sidney’s hole and Sid can feel himself loosen and give. Geno groans against his perineum, digging his fingertips into the lean muscle of Sidney’s thighs as he tugs the cheeks apart and licks a thick stripe across Sid’s hole. He leans back to plunge two fingers inside of Sidney, who whines a high-pitched noise when Geno pushes against his prostate.

“My birthday,” Geno whispers, breath hot against Sid’s inner thigh. “Eat what I want.”

Sidney moans. His dick is a hard, red line against his stomach, and when Geno presses a thumb against his rim and tugs, Sid feels his cock pulse, precome dripping out of the tip and down the length of him.

“I thought we had an agreement, Zhenya,” Sidney sighs when Geno presses a sloppy kiss against his hole. “You were going to fuck me,” Sid manages to get out before thunking his head back down onto the pillow and letting his eyes fall closed. After a decade of good, _really_ _amazing_ sex, Geno knows how to push Sidney to the edge almost embarrassingly fast.

“ _Da_ ,” Geno rumbles and Sidney can feel the vibration against his sensitive skin. “You ride me, come on my cock, get that pretty pink flush all down your chest,” he says, pushing up onto his knees to position himself between Sidney’s legs and press their dicks together. The friction is enough to make Sidney take a deep, shuddering breath. Geno’s face is wet and ruddy, cheeks shiny with spit, his lips puffy with use. Sid doesn’t want to come yet but Geno is looking at him with dark, hungry eyes and such _intent_ , that it takes every inch of willpower Sidney has not to lose it right then and there. Instead, he scrunches his eyes shut and thinks of hockey drills until the electric spark in the pit of his stomach lessens to a dull throb and he can flip Geno underneath him, both of them laughing when he flanks Geno with his thighs to bend down and kiss him, grinding against Geno and smiling into his mouth when he thrusts up into the movement. Snaking a hand in between them, Sidney wraps his fingers around Geno, giving him a few strokes before sitting up and letting his own cock bounce against his stomach. Reaching behind him, Sidney pushes up on his haunches, lines himself up and then sinks down onto Geno’s cock, slow and careful, thighs flexing at the strain as he seats himself, balls resting on the wiry pubic hairs nestling Geno’s dick. Geno releases a punched out sound when Sidney begins to rock, head bent forward, hands braced against Geno’s stomach. Flushed a deep red, and glistening with a thin sheen of sweat, Geno places his hands on either of Sid’s thighs and thrusts up into him, murmuring a soft, constant flow of _filthy_ Russian as he pegs Sidney’s prostate with precision. His nails are digging into Sidney’s summer tanned thighs and Sid can feel the sharp half-moons breaking the delicate skin. When Sidney finally lifts his head to meet Geno’s eyes, Geno groans a throaty noise and suddenly they're shifting, Geno sitting up to wrap his arms around Sid’s waist even as their lips meet for a sloppy, uncoordinated kiss.

“ _Ya lublyu tebya_ , Sidnyusha.” Geno breathes the words into Sidney’s mouth and Sidney repeats them back in broken Russian, rocking his hips as Geno fucks into him deep and slow. “Take my cock so pretty, _moy muzh_ _,”_ he adds before gently pushing Sidney onto his back. Then Geno lets loose a litany of words and begins fucking Sid with hard, fast thrusts that have Sid arching up off the bed to get him deeper.

“Come on, harder, please,” Sidney begs, voice cracking.

Geno’s eyes snap open and he pushes up onto his knees. He wraps his arms around Sid, who pulls his hips up to meet Geno’s thrusts. When Sidney grabs for his dick, though, Geno bats his hand away.

“I say I give what you need,” he repeats. His eyes are dark and hooded as he gazes at Sidney, a soft smirk playing on his lips even as his dick twitches inside of Sid. “You don’t believe?”

“I do,” Sid breathes out. “Fuck.” Geno grinds his hips, slow and dirty, against him, breathing out these little noises and whispering in Russian, never taking his eyes off of Sidney’s and Sid can feel his orgasm begin to pool at the base of his spine as he spreads his legs wider and lets Geno sink down onto him. The slick and sweat gathered between their bodies causes them to slip and slide against each other and the squelching, wet noises echo in the quiet of their bedroom make Sid’s cheek burn with arousal. His dick is rock hard, rubbing against Geno’s stomach with barely-there friction and Sid needs something, anything. “Please, Zhenya,” he moans. “Please…”

“Beg so pretty, Sidnyusha,” Geno says, bending down and kissing him, hard and desperate. The extra pressure against his cock is all it takes and Sid comes with a shout. He pants against Geno’s mouth and feels Geno coming inside of him, pulsing hot and wet. “Oh fuck, Sid, fuck,” Geno grunts, his breath hot against Sidney’s lips as his hips give an aborted thrust before stilling. Geno rolls off of him so that they lie side by side, Sidney tucked into the curves of Geno’s body, snuggling close as they catch their breath. After a few minutes, Geno climbs out of bed to wet a washcloth for clean up. He returns to wipe Sidney off with slow, purposeful touches until Sid is practically purring when Geno finally tosses the towel toward the bathroom and wraps his long, lean arms around him. It’s still early, and even they woke up only a few hours before, they drift off to sleep curled into one another, the morning sun warming their naked skin.

_/\\_

Later, with a pen and paper in hand, Sidney peers at the screen of his tablet, trying to make out the name of the flour Natalia is holding. Geno is showering, and Sidney is downstairs calling his mother-in-law on Skype, mostly looking for the reassurance he knows she’s bound to offer, but also because he’s not really sure if _pshentsy_ means wheat or whole-grain.

 _“_ Wheat, Sidney, _”_ she sighs, clearly exasperated. “ _Konechno, pshentsy, Sidka_ , _”_ she repeats, this time in Russian. “Doesn’t matter, what brand _,”_ Natalia chides in English. “Zhenya love you _. Limonnik het vazhno._ ” 

“It’s important to me,” he answers and at that, she softens.

“Sidka, is why I help _,_ _glupyy.”_

 _"Da_ , _mama_ , _bolshoye spasiba_ _._ Really.” Sid smiles, genuine and happy and Natalia laughs, shaking her head. She continues to recite the list of ingredients she uses to make Geno’s favorite sour lemon dessert that Sid is attempting to recreate from Natalia’s recipe for his birthday party. It’s going to be a surprise, and even though Sidney practiced the recipe once last week and Sergei had said it tasted fine (which, after a pointed look from Sid, he changed to _“delicious and just like Mama Malkina”_ ), Sid wants to make sure he has everything perfect, since Geno doesn’t know he’s making this particular culinary attempt.

After saying a hasty goodbye when he hears the shower turn off, Sid heads upstairs to sit on the edge of the bed and watch Geno get dressed. They chit chat and Sid makes fun of his shirt choices until Geno settles on a black and grey patterned button down and a pair of dark slacks.

“Sid, you come with. Be most fun,” Geno grumbles even as he buttons his shirt and straightens his pants. Sidney is still dressed in sweats and a hoodie with his car keys in hand, ready to head out to the grocery store as soon as Geno gets his shit together. Friends traveling from all over are already in Pittsburgh; Nealsy has been in town since Friday, Phil, Flower and Tanger all arrived earlier that day, while Kulya and Sasha have been on the East Coast for a week and drove to Pitt in time for a night out with the boys, which is where Geno is supposed to be now.

“I have some things to do before tomorrow, G,” Sid reasons for the tenth time that day. “Go have fun, speak Russian, and I’ll see everyone tomorrow, not a big deal.”

“Flower coming over?”

Sid nods, flipping his hat backwards with a grin. “As soon as the girls are all settled at the hotel, they’re going to swing by with a couple of pizzas. You picking up Tanger and Phil?” Sid asks as they walk down to the garage together. Geno nods, dropping his dress shoes to the floor in front of him and toeing them on at the door. Behind Geno, Sid admires the view, sliding his hands across Geno’s waist, his touch feather light. “You look good, tonight,” Sidney murmurs, breaking into a soft laugh when Geno wiggles his ass against Sidney’s palm. “Tell the boys I said hi, okay? Don’t get too drunk, we’ve got a long day tomorrow.”

“Am Russian, Sid, never get too drunk,” Geno scoffs, as if Sid hasn’t seen him with a hangover before. When they are at their cars, Sidney places a hand on Geno’s shoulders and reaches up to give him a kiss. “S' _dnem rozhdeniya_ , _Zhenya_. _Ya lublyu tebya_ ,” he adds in Russian to Geno’s amused laugh. He kisses Sid again, this time, slow and lingering, letting his thumb graze against the jut of Sid’s chin and rest there until Sid has to pull away, dazed.  

“Best husband, Sid. Love you, too,” Geno tells Sidney, voice soft. Sid quirks a crooked smile and watches as Geno get into his small, over-priced sports car, buckle up his seat belt and toss a challenging look over his shoulder before backing out with what Sid thinks is frankly, unnecessary speed. “Be home before sun up!” Geno yells through the window as he’s turning out of the driveway.

“Better be home before that, dick!” Sidney chirps back, a grin on his face even as he climbs into his truck to follow his husband down the street. They turn in opposite directions once they get to Chestnut Drive; Sid goes left, toward the Eastern European store that he and Geno shop at, while Geno turns right toward Highway 65. Geno honks his horn before he turns and Sidney waves out of the window, well aware that they’re being obnoxious but, he reasons, it’s his husband’s birthday and Sid’s allowed to indulge him.

At Kiev’s Market, Sidney presents Natalia’s list of ingredients to Tasha, the owner’s daughter, same as he did the first time he made the _limonnik._ They meander around the store together and find all the necessary components to bake the sour lemon dessert while Tasha asks Sidney about his time in Los Angeles and the hockey school. The shop is mostly empty right before closing time, and Sidney is grateful not only for the privacy but also the undivided attention of Tasha.

“Thank you so much,” he tells her when they are standing at the cash register and have finally picked up all the items as well as a few household staples. “Zhenya is going to guess that you talked me into buying the salted mushrooms. He knows I hate them,” Sid adds.

“You be nice to that boy today, Sidka,” she tells him seriously. “After baby come, you have no time for spoil,” she laughs heartily, at her own quip and Sidney smiles, polite, even if he is feeling just a little impatient to go home. “ _Udachi tebe_. You let me know how _limonnik_ turn out,” Tasha tells him. Sidney agrees and then Tasha’s locking the door behind him, muttering to herself in Russian as she pulls the blinds closed.  

When he gets into the truck, Sidney checks his phone to find a text from Flower. He and the girls are on their way from Vocelli’s Pizza and will meet Sid at his house in twenty minutes. Sidney sends a quick text back before placing the groceries on the floor of the passenger side and then getting back on the road, shamelessly plugging in the directions to his house, in the hopes that his Maps app will help him navigate around the worst of the evening traffic. He drives with the windows down over four separate bridges, blasting the local pop radio station, singing off-key to the words of songs he knows, humming along to those that he doesn’t. The sun is setting in the distance and the evening feels cool and a little magical. Anticipation buzzes right underneath his skin at knowing some of their best friends and many of their family members are already in town, ready to gather in celebration of Geno. Even if the planning is stressful and he’s maybe set himself up for disaster by trying to bake for 200 people, Sidney looks forward to the party and the time spent with friends more than he can even express. The idea of talking publicly about retirement both terrifies and exhilarates him, and the swoop in his stomach feels much like the one Sid gets before he walks out onto the ice with Geno at his back.

By the time Sidney makes it home, the Fleurys are in his driveway and the summer sun is almost all the way behind the trees. The girls are sitting on the steps of the front porch, both of them on their phones, the artificial light glowing in the dim dusk of evening while Veronique and Marc-Andre lounge against their rented SUV.

“How do you even know my lock code?” Is the first thing Sidney says, breaking out into a toothy smile at the impish grin on Flower’s face.

“Sidney Crosby-Malkin, you haven’t changed it in fifteen years. You’re a creature of habit,” Flower laughs, pulling Sidney into a hug. “How was your summer? You look good!” He adds, surveying Sidney’s summer bulk and the tan he’s been maintaining since California. “World travel always did agree with you.” Sidney rolls his eyes but allows himself to cling to Flower for a moment. They don’t see each other as much as Sid would like, not since Flower moved back to Montreal, but the Fleurys always make it out to Geno’s birthday party, and they get together a handful of times throughout the season, which Sid is eternally grateful for. Flower already knows about Sid and Geno’s retirement announcement. He had been the person Sid called when he needed to hash out the pros and cons with someone other than his husband, and, as always, has come to Pittsburgh, not only to chirp Sid about his baking skills, but to lend an ear as Sid inevitably goes over every possible scenario for the party tomorrow and to discuss Flower's plans to settle down in town in the coming year. Vero barks an order in French, and then both Scarlett and Estelle are at his door, offering hugs and help with groceries, making quick work of the bags and settling at the kitchen table with two slices of pizza apiece when Sid offers up some of the ice cream he picked up at the store.

“ _Merci_ , _Oncle_ ,” they say in unison, to Vero’s snort of disbelief.

“They’re never this sweet, Sidney,” Vero tells him, eyes sparkling with mirth. Sid barks a laugh at that, adding a second scoop of chocolate chip to each bowl, pointedly ignoring Flower’s indulgent gaze. He never gets to see the girls anymore, and already has plans to spoil them rotten while they’re in town. Flower is just going to have to get over it.

“Don’t believe her, _Oncle_ Sid,” Estelle says with all the seriousness of a twelve year old and all the mischief of a Fleury. “I am a very sweet person, ask anyone.”  

“Oh, I know it, _mon cher_ ,” Sid tells her seriously as he places the bowls in front of them on the table. “You eat your pizza first, then ice cream, or _Maman_ will not be happy with _Oncle_ at all,” he emphasizes the last words with a waggle of his eyebrows and Scarlett giggles even as she stuffs half a slice of pepperoni pizza in her mouth, grabs the spoon and scoops a big bite of ice cream.

“ _Maman_ knows her _petits choux_ are going to get dessert when they visit _Oncle_ Sidney. _Oui, tout le monde sait ça.”_ Vero cackles when Sidney glares at her. There’s no real heat behind it, and she knows it.

“Come on girls, finish up so _Oncle_ can start baking for Geno, _d’accord_?” Flower says, waving Sidney’s television remote at them. “He’s got all the movie channels _and_ all the sports channels, so you’d better be quick or we’re going to end up watching curling on Sportsnet if you’re not…” Flower is interrupted by three very loud groans from his daughters and wife, and Sidney has to laugh at that.

“Still torturing people with your curling obsession, eh?” Sidney asks.

“Curling is an art. You’re the golden Canadian boy, Crosby. Back me up on this.”

“It is indeed an art, girls,” Sidney says, mock stern. “But no one wants to watch four hours of curling on television, right?” He adds, eyes sparkling.

Vero, Estelle and Scarlett all staunchly shake their head, each one of them attempting to keep the smiles off their faces at Flower’s indignant squawk.

“You are all fired from being my family,” Flower says. “I’m moving to L.A. with Phil and living the bachelor life I’ve always dreamed of.”

“Lies,” Sidney teases. “You’d be back knocking on Vero’s door in less than a week, crying because you have no one to laugh at your stupid jokes.”

“This is true, Marc,” Veronique agrees, mouth twitching.

“Papa, you would miss us too much, admit it!” Estelle shouts at Flower through a mouthful of chocolate chip ice cream and Sid gets a swoop in his stomach when he thinks of, just for a moment, if he and Geno had this noise, this _joy_ , in their home all the time and how wonderful that might be.

By the time Sidney puts the last of the lemon bars in the oven, the movie is almost over and it’s midnight. Sidney reminds himself to thank his home decorator for encouraging him to purchase the stainless steel double oven, which, at the time, seemed like an indulgence but now, feels like a necessary component to the Sidney Crosby Culinary Experience, as Flower has been calling it all night.

“Geno is going to flip his fucking lid when he finds out you cooked something from his mother’s recipe book,” Flower tells Sid as they head down to the garage to hide the last of the _limonnik_ in the second refrigerator. “Last time you cooked _pelmeni_ , I swear, he tried to get you pregnant!”

“You’re disgusting,” Sid says, sliding the last two trays into the fridge. He shuts the door, making sure to put the empty egg crates back in front of the appliance so that it looks unused and Geno doesn’t come sniffing around looking for treats. “Remind me why we’re friends, again?”

“Because no one else can put up with your ridiculously domestic nesting habits, is why,” Flower says easily. “Speaking of, are you ready for tomorrow?” He adds, nonplussed when Sid doesn’t answer and instead leads them back up the stairs to the den, where the girls and Vero are listing, watching the end of some French rom-com on Netflix.

“I am,” Sidney finally says, voice soft and sure. It feels right, like playing hockey’s always felt right. “It’s time, you know?”

“Of course, I know, old man,” Flower replies.

“You’re older than me and Geno, both,” Sidney points out. “And you played til you were forty.”

“Yeah, and my hips still don’t appreciate that,” Flower offers. “We can’t play forever. We’re not all Jagr,” he adds, voice gentle.

Sidney smiles, but he knows it probably looks a little sad.

“Yeah, I mean, I wish we would've started things sooner, but…” He doesn’t finish the sentence, but Sidney knows that Flower hears the unspoken, _but hockey._

“You’re doing it now,” Flower says. “And it’s definitely not too late. The guys are going to support you, even if they are losing their third line center,” he teases.

“Nothing wrong with the third line,” Sidney interjects. “The Penguins have depth, okay? You should see our hot, Russian fourth liner,” Sid adds, waggling his eyebrows just like he'd done for Scarlett. Flower laughs and teases him about his age and being the old, married, team dad until Vero shushes them because the girls have fallen asleep right there on the couch _._

By the time Geno strolls in from his night out an hour later, the Fleurys are gone and Sid is upstairs, in his pajamas, flipping through an e-book about Russian military general, Ivan Konev, a pair of reading glasses perched on his nose, Chopin playing softly through the speakers of his tablet. Geno kisses him _hello_ and Sid’s surprised to see that Geno is, in fact, fairly sober, more tired than drunk. He heads into the bathroom and Sid hears the shower turn on as Geno takes a perfunctory shower, probably to wash off the smell of cigarette smoke and alcohol. Placing the device down on the bed, Sidney rolls over onto his side and watches Geno exit the bathroom, a towel wrapped around his waist as he rummages through a dresser drawer for a pair of clean underwear and his pajama pants. When he finally slides under the covers, Sidney smiles at him, soft and sleepy.

“You have fun?”

Geno nods and then yawns loud and wide. “We go to restaurant and four different bars all over Pittsburgh. Don’t know why Tanger and Phil pretend they young. They same age as me. Tanger have new baby, act like he still twenty-three. Phil dating some Hollywood model same age as Wilkes-Barre rookie. Too old for this shit, I tell them, but no one listen, say it’s my birthday, last hurrah and all that,” Geno finishes.

“Everyone knows you’re an old man,” Sidney says around a yawn of his own. “I’m sure they don’t hold it against you.”

“This is true,” Geno admits, snuggling down onto his pillow and tucking Sidney into his side. “Girls and Flower come over? You spoil with ice cream and cookies?” Geno asks, plucking the glasses off Sidney’s face and placing them on the bedside table next to the tablet.

“We didn’t have cookies,” Sid hedges. “You ready for your party tomorrow, birthday boy?” he asks, melting into the feel of Geno running his fingers through Sidney’s hair. Geno hums an affirmative sound and Sid smiles against his husband’s chest. He knows Geno is going to fall asleep as soon as the lights are off. Sid closes his eyes and evens out his breath until he and Geno are breathing in sync and is jostled only a little when Geno reaches behind him to turn off the lamp. He tugs Sidney impossibly closer, nuzzling into Sidney’s hair to whisper sweet words in Russian. Geno is solid and comfortable and Sid’s head fits in the crook between Geno’s neck and shoulders. They fall asleep like that, in one moment to the next, wrapped up in one another, just like they always have.

**_/\\_**

****There’s enough fanfare at Geno’s party that Sidney doesn’t really want to add to it, if he can help it. Geno already made a huge deal about the _limonnik_ when he saw the caterers add it to the dessert table, standing by and making sure everyone who came for a slice of cake also picked up one of Sidney’s lemon bars, which the kitchen cut into tiny portions to accommodate the many guests, all of whom now know that Sid baked the dessert using Geno’s mama’s recipe because Geno made sure to tell every person in attendance--prime chirping material for Phil, Flower and Nealsy pretty much the entire night, so far. After dessert, Sid and Geno head up to the microphone, and Sid can see all eyes turn toward the stage as the din slows and stops, the music a soft hum that they can easily be heard over. Geno looks calm and happy, eyes shining from alcohol and jokes with old friends, face split wide with a grin he hasn’t shed since they arrived. He loves his birthday parties, which is why Sidney never complains, only organizes and frets the entire month of July in order to create a new and fun experience for Geno every time, many of them involving live animals from the Pittsburgh Zoo. After the planning stages, though, during the actual event, Sidney likes to sit back and watch Geno and their friends enjoy themselves, shunning the spotlight so the day remains all about Geno. So, of course, up on stage, in front of all their friends and family, Sidney is buzzing with nerves because he’s got to be the one to do the talking--he promised Geno he wouldn’t have to get drunk and speak English in front of a room full of people. Sid’s heart is pounding in his chest and he knows he’s sweating through his suit because his shirt is sticking to the small of his back and he can feel it as they walk up the steps to the stage and the microphone.

 _“Dobriy vecher, druzya. Spasibo, chto otprazdnoval moy den' rozhdeniya u nas etim vecherom,”_ Geno begins. He laughs when Sidney grabs the microphone from him, who shakes his head with a rueful smile.

“For those of us who _don’t_ speak Russian, Thank you so much for celebrating Geno’s 40th birthday with us tonight,” Sid repeats. The crowd hoots and hollers, clapping loudly as some of the kids scream and shout out _happy birthday._  There are almost two hundred people stuffed into banquet hall B at the Downtown Raddison, and each one of them, with the exception of a few sleeping babies, are gazing up at them with such joy and acceptance, it gives Sid the courage he needs to push forward. “Geno’s lost his English, so, as usual, it’s up to me to do the talking,” Sid quips. Geno wraps his long fingers around Sidney’s and pulls the mic toward his mouth.

“Sid best at media scrum in locker room, best at announce birthday!” Geno booms, grinning even bigger when his stupid joke gets a few laughs out of their audience.

“Anyway,” Sid says and Geno just laughs, wrapping an arm around Sid’s waist and squeezing. _Here we go._ “We are really excited to start the new season with the Penguins this fall,” Sid pauses as the crowd goes wild, cheering and whooping for them. “Alright, alright, settle down,” he says in the same voice he uses with the Little Penguins, motioning the guys in front to take their seats and smirking a little when Sergei Gonchar barks at Alexander Ovechkin,

“ _Syadite, rebyonok!"_

“The new season starts soon, and we wanted you, our closest friends and family members to be the first to know…” Sid takes a deep breath but before he can say another word, Geno grabs the mic from him again.

“We retire at end of season, have baby!” Geno blurts out and if Sid thought the room was loud before, it’s nothing compared to the swell of cheers that fills the room. His parents, Taylor, the Malkins, they’re cheering and clapping and up on their feet, just like everyone else in the room. Both Sid and Geno stand there, red faced and smiling at the roar of applause that cuts them off from saying anything else. Eventually, they make their way off the stage and the DJ behind them takes over, imploring the crowd to come up to the dance floor, which is quickly overrun by a group of kids and adults who line up to do the Electric Slide.

“We’re really doing it,” Sidney whispers into Geno’s ear. He’s pressed close as Geno talks excitedly in Russian to an older couple who Sid thinks might be Geno’s Russian trainer’s parents. Geno turns to press a kiss to Sidney’s temple, arms till wrapped around his waist, and excuses himself politely from the pair, ignoring Sid’s scoffs and attempts to stop him from being rude. Geno leads them out of the ballroom, smiling at people who try to talk to them but not stopping. By the time they get outside, Sidney is shaking his head in disbelief but quietly pleased to be out of the fray. The fresh air feels good, and at this late hour, it’s fairly quiet outside of the hotel. They walk in silence for a bit, across the street and to the river’s edge where they stop and face each other. It’s nice, the reprieve from the noise of the last few hours. He’ll gladly take a moment alone to recharge before heading back inside to face all the questions and goodwill. “It’s going to leak to the press,” Sid says after a moment. They’ve already signed their new contracts, both of which expire at the end of the Pens next season, and the front office knows and has a press announcement prepared for first thing Monday morning.

“Press release go out tomorrow, Sid,” Geno says into his hair. He’s standing behind Sidney, both of his arms wrapped around Sid’s waist, chin resting lightly on his head. “Public gonna know about it by the time we wake up,” he adds.

“I know,” Sid says because he does know, logically, that the secret is out. The Pens media team drafted up a statement about the Crosby-Malkins retiring and everyone from Mario to Dana already knows. But now--that they’ve breathed retirement into existence surrounded by the joy and positivity and congratulations of their loved ones--it feels more real than it ever has. “But what if we change our minds?” Sid asks, voice soft. His worst fear is that he’ll regret the decision, resent Geno and the baby or the Little Penguins, that he isn’t capable of life without hockey.

“Not be without hockey, Sid,” Geno murmurs, as if he can read what Sidney is thinking. “Still coaching little ones, still be around team, in Pittsburgh, for a long time.”

Sidney takes a shuddering breath and turns to bury his face in Geno’s chest, willing himself to get his shit together and not fucking cry. He’s so glad Geno thought to bring them outside for a few minutes before having to talk to people, because the gravity of what they are doing is hitting Sidney much harder than that third glass of champagne.

“Gonna be hard, but we do together, like always,” Geno says, cupping Sid’s jaw lightly and drawing his face up so that their eyes meet. “No need for sad,” he adds. “We gonna have a baby.” At that his voice breaks and Sid can see, even in the darkness of the late hour, Geno’s eyes shining with unshed tears, a wistful smile playing on his lips.

Sid hiccups a sob and a laugh, gripping the hem of Geno’s suit coat. “Fuck yeah, we are,” he says.

“No cuss for baby, Sid,” Geno teases, rubbing Sidney’s abdomen with a fond look on his face.

“We don’t actually have a baby yet and I’m not pregnant, you asshole,” Sid says, huffing an indignant sound.

“You make such pretty mama, Sidnyusha,” Geno coos, to which Sidney half-heartedly shoves at him, giggling his awful laugh until he doesn’t feel the nerves any longer.

“I’m really happy, G,” Sidney says. It’s simple and true of his life here in Pittsburgh, with Geno and the Penguins and his friends. He’s given everything he has to hockey, and the rewards have been incredible, but it’s time to move forward. He’s ready, they both are, and Sid wouldn’t change a single thing.

“Glad,” Geno responds. “Me too.”

_/\\_

Some of the guys and their families come over for brunch the next morning. The house is filled with too much laughter and loudness for Sidney to worry about the Penguins’ press release, which went out, just as Geno promised, before they even got out of bed. They keep their phones and the t.v. off, instead focusing on packing a couple of suitcases for Cole Harbour and unpacking a breakfast feast from Grand Concourse.  

“You outdid yourself, Sid,” Kris says, piling his plate with slices of salmon and a crepe covered in strawberries and cream cheese. “Didn’t think anything could be more domestic than Mrs. Malkin’s lemon bars, but,” he pauses to pop a strawberry into his mouth. “I was wrong!”

“Shut it, Tanger,” Geno says as he elbows past Kris to get to the eggs. He’s wearing a dark pair of jeans that make his legs look miles long and his favorite grey cardigan with the missing button. “Mama and Sid work very hard, no need for make fun, jealous.”

Kris puts up two hands in truce. “I’m just saying, G, your boy has embraced the suburban housewife life and it’s a good look on him,” he offers with a rueful grin. Tanger’s been retired for eight years--his body and health a factor in his accepting a job as part of the Pens development team instead of a possible trade in free agency. He spends practically every day with the team working on defense, but he doesn’t play, not anymore. Sid had asked him, in a late night Skype call from Russia to Pittsburgh a few weeks ago, if Tanger had any regrets, if he resented Catherine or Alex or the team, his brow had furrowed and he ran a hand through his hair, huffing a noise that sounded a lot like a laugh.

“Oh my god, Sidney,” he had said, amused. “You and G are two, forty year-old, very competitive, highly honored, professional hockey players at the top of your game and have been for like, two decades.”

“I’m not quite forty yet, you dick,” Sid had muttered under his breath.

Tanger had laughed for real then, a loud, guffaw followed by muttered curses in French about Canadian-Russian super-powered hockey babies. “You have wanted kids since that man asked Papa Lemieux to court you, but you both put hockey first, and there’s nothing wrong with that. There isn’t,” He added when Sidney had tried to interrupt him. “This is going to be good for you. It’s going to be great!” His voice bright and genuine. “You guys are gonna be great dads. I can’t wait to see G have to change a shitty diaper. It’s like everything he’s alway deserved and more,” he cackled at Sidney, who had laughed along, the tension slowly leaking out of him as he and Tanger talked about possible future hockey superbabies, a future that Sidney fiercely wants to make a reality.

In the kitchen, Geno places an arm around Sidney’s shoulders and leans them both against the counter, sniffing at Tanger with disdain. “You just want golf partner on away game days.” Tanger shrugs before stuffing a cream covered crepe into his mouth. Geno makes a disgusted noise next to Sid, who rolls his eyes then lets them drift over in the direction of the shrieks coming from the front of the house, where a group is playing ball hockey on the driveway. Geno follows Sid gamely enough, clutching a steaming mug of tea in one hand, Sid’s waist in the other, as they wander outside. The morning sun is bright, and Sid wonders idly if anyone bothered to put on sunscreen. On the cement, Flower is dancing the puck toward the net, where Phil is decked out in Sid’s goalie gear. Flower crows at him in French as he dekes one through on the blocker side when Phil throws his goalie stick at him.

“Hey, that’s got to be roughing, or something!” Flower shouts. His hat is flipped backwards and his cheeks and nose are red with exertion and maybe a sunburn, so it’s a _no_ on the sunblock, probably. “Ref?” Flower says, turning to Sidney.

Sid steps out onto the driveway, placing a hand on his jaw, while he frowns, considering. He exaggerates a wink at Scarlett, who is holding tightly onto her hockey stick, and yells, “I’ll allow it!”, raising his right arm to indicate a good goal and Scarlett let’s out a squeal of delight.

“Ah fu--dge,” Phil grumbles, correcting himself, then grabbing his water bottle to take a drink and splash his neck before turning back to face the net to scowl at the crossbar. Flower mimes shooting an arrow up into the sky and Vero laughs, high fiving her husband and gathering up Scarlett.

“Hockey hugs,” Scarlett squeals, throwing her arms around her father’s neck who is dressed in a worn Penguins sweater, the number 29 emblazoned on her back. After a short stint in Vegas, Flower retired, moving his family back to Quebec where he spends his time fishing and dishing out loads of money and time his goalie coaching school for underprivileged kids. It took a bit of convincing, but Sid finally got Flower and the girls to commit to moving back to Pittsburgh in the spring, so that he and Sid can work together again, which Sid is looking forward to more than he’ll admit.

“Hockey hugs!” Vero agrees, face-washing her husband to Scarlett’s delighted laughter.

“Sid!” Phil yells from the net. “You guys wanna play?” He motions to the skates and sticks leaning against the deck.

Sid looks at Geno and Tanger, who both shrug. “We’ve got three,” Sid says.

“That’s okay, _Oncle_ ,” Scarlett says, pulling off her mask and handing her very tall stick to Geno, who takes it with a solemn nod. “I’m tired and it’s hot out here.” She turns to her mother. “Can I go watch movies with Alex and Estelle?” Scarlett asks, even as she’s stripping off her protective gear. “Uncle Geno can take my place,” she adds, eyeballing him. Vero looks at Geno, who shrugs and nods again, and then he, Sid and Tanger are all lacing up rollerblades and grabbing spare sticks while bickering over positions. Sid refuses to put on Phil’s sweaty goalie gear, so he ends up playing Catherine’s winger. It is Vero, Flower and Geno against Sid, Tanger and Catherine, all shooting mercilessly against their goalie, as they amass goal after goal after goal until Phil, battered and bruised, declares he’s finished and tosses his stick in the direction of Flower to goes inside to get some ice water.

“Think we break Phil,” Geno says. “Mean we win by default,” he adds, waggling his eyebrows at Sid.

“No way!” Sid scoffs. “That last goal got us to thirteen. You are only at eleven.”

“Lies!” Geno growls, snagging the puck off of Sid’s stick at shooting it into the open net.

“Let’s just call it a draw and go inside,” Flower offers.

“Goalie not used to playing real position,” Geno teases him. “Forward actually have to move and play, not just sit on knees whole game.”

Sid honks a laugh as Flower blusters and cusses at Geno in French and Tanger pretends to hold him back.

“I think we need to replenish and refresh, boys,” Vero says, rolling her eyes and pushing her husband toward the glass doors. They go amicably enough, shoving and chirping at one another until it’s time for the out of town guests to head back to their hotels and gather their stuff up to go. Phil is the last to head out, going straight to the airport for his flight to California. He’s got to captainly duties in the Western Conference and promised to be there to greet the new guys and open up his team’s media day. Catherine and Alex head home, with promises to stop by with the baby as soon as Sid and Geno are back. Vero, Estelle and Scarlett plan to head back to Montreal to get ready for the school year, but Flower is flying to Cole Harbour with Sid and Geno to help out with hockey school and test out their goalie tract. He goes to the hotel with his family, to say goodbye and to get his own stuff ready for a week in Nova Scotia with the Malkin-Crosbys. At the door, there are wet eyes all around as the group parts ways, but Sid knows it’s always like this and that they’ll see each other soon, whether it be on the ice or during the next break.

“Phil, you take it easy on us this year, yes? Is our last one, so be nice,” Geno smirks at him. “Not have to get fourth Stanley Cup on our backs, okay, Champion?”

“I would say the same thing to you, but I’m self aware enough to realize you want as many Cups as you have fingers on your hand.”

“Fifth cup ring look nice on my thumb, Phil, don’t you think?”

“You’re such an asshole, Malkin.”

“Miss you too, liney,” Geno says, tongue poking out of his mouth as he swoops in to give Phil a hug. Sid gets one too, and a hair ruffle from Phil that he ducks ineffectively. “We see you in November, you buy good vodka, maybe I come over and cheer you up after we win,” Geno adds.

“Fuck you, Geno!” Phil hollers over his shoulder as he gets into his Uber. Sid is tucked into Geno’s side, arm slung around Geno’s waist, feet bare on the shaded cement porch. When Phil’s car is out of sight, Geno turns to press a kiss to the crown of Sid’s head.

“Time for hockey school, yes?”

“Yes,” Sid replies, a wide smile breaking across his face.

“Flower come this time, make fun for you. You ready?” Geno asks, turning them back into the house and toward the kitchen, when they are faced with a pile of plates and empty serving bowls that Sid reckons they can probably just throw away.

“I am so ready,” Sid admits. “You think the kids are going to be disappointed?” He asks, voice soft and tinged with worry.

“It be fine, Sid. Kids there for play hockey. Know you as teacher Sid, not hockey player Sid,” Geno hums. “They be sad for a little bit, I think,” he says. “But they kids. They be okay. They still love,” Geno adds with a gentle squeeze to his shoulder and Sid isn’t sure if he’s talking about the kids at the hockey school, Penguins fans or both.

He bites down on the responses of worry and doubt that well up inside of him and nods in agreement instead, allowing himself to believe in Geno’s surety. The season’s not going to be easy, hell, they haven’t even turned on their phones yet to see the backlash from the press release. Sid and Geno have got to face the kids, the fans, the media and their teammates as they prepare to publicly retire from professional hockey, but they also have to play and focus and win games. It’s not going to be easy, but at least they have each other to lean on, constant as always, their relationship and hockey the two things Sidney’s always been able to count on.

 

 

________________

**Translations**

**Ya lublyu tebya:** I love you

 **moy muzh:** my husband

 **pshentsy:** wheat

 **Konechno, pshentsy:** you know it's wheat

 **Limonnik het vazhno:** the lemon cake is not important

 **glupyy:** silly

 **Da, mama, bolshoye spasiba:** yes, mama, thank you so much

 **s dnem rozhdeniya,  Zhenya.  Ya lublyu tebya:** happy birthday, Zhenya. I love you **.**

 **Udachi tebe:** good luck

 **petits choux:** little cabbages

 **Oui, tout le monde sait ça:** yes, everyone knows that

 **d’accord:** understand

 **Dobriy vecher, druzya. Spasibo, chto otprazdnoval moy den' rozhdeniya u nas etim vecherom:** good evening, friends, thank you for celebrating my birthday with us this evening

 **Syadite, rebyonok:** sit down, child

 


	2. Chapter 2

The media is kind until Christmas, when Geno goes down because of his knee and SportsCenter begins to speculate about the timing for retirement and proceeds to scrutinize everything Sidney does in Geno’s absence. Geno, for the most part, doesn’t let it get to him. He goes with Sid to the rink nearly every day for rehab and spend the away games down in Wilkes-Barre Scranton, working with the AHL team coaches in the video room. To compensate, Sidney gets a hat trick in Columbus and is on a eight-game point streak. The Penguins are playing good hockey this year, _great hockey_ , if Sid’s honest, and it’s got so much to do with the leadership in the room, and not just he and Geno. Jake takes the A on his chest seriously, and even though he’s had it for three years now, he steps up even more while Geno’s out with his knee injury. Sid has already put a word in with Mike about giving Jake the captaincy when he and Geno retire, and not for nothing, but he really hopes they do. Connor and Rusty have been a real driving force for the Wilkes-Barre call ups throughout the years, and Sid can see with clarity the Pittsburgh Penguins thriving in the next few years, the legacy that he and Geno leave as important as anything else they’ve done with this team.  

It is during an away trip up the coast to New Jersey, New York and Boston in late January that Sidney gets a call from Geno about a potential adoption opportunity. They’ve been working with a local adoption agency, meeting with caseworkers and filling out forms for three months now, working toward finding a match. Still out for his knee, Geno had to turn in a few errant pieces of paperwork proving his dual Russian-Canadian citizenship status and he calls Sidney from the agency's downtown offices the morning that the Pens play the Islanders, on their third day out of town, moments after Sidney steps out of the locker room after optional skate.

“Hello, Sid, hope practice good, get win tonight,” Geno starts, sounding breathless and excited. “I’m at adoption agency. Talk to caseworker today and,” Geno breaks off, a tremor underlying his words. “Miss Veronica maybe find us Russian girl who want to give baby for adoption, Sid. She twenty-five, go to school at U of Pitt and want baby to go to nice Russian family. If we agree, girl say she want to meet when you come back from trip,” he adds. “Only thing is...” Geno stops and Sidney makes an encouraging noise in order to get him to continue. “She due in April. Other Russian family change their minds. Not tell sex, but I say it doesn’t matter to us and if you want to meet, I want to meet, but I’m not sure if April too soon for us or maybe we wait a little bit more time. We not find any Russians before this and I know is not most important detail but...”

“Zhenya, take a breath, please,” Sidney interrupts, hoping his voice comes across more calm than he feels. April is much sooner on their timeline than he is truly prepared for, but there aren’t a lot of pregnant Russian girls who want to give up their baby for adoption in the Pittsburgh area, and, when, at the request of their caseworker, Veronica Hernandez, Sid and Geno had made a list of adoption criteria, Russian ancestry had been one of the few things Geno had asked for specifically, if possible. They’d only begun working with the Three Rivers Adoption Council and had been told that the process could take months, years even.

Geno pauses and takes two deep, shuddering breaths.

“What’s her name?” Sidney asks.

“Natalia, Sid.”

“Like your mom?”

“ _Da_ ,” Geno replies and his voice cracks. Everyone knows that Sidney is superstitious and that he believes in fate, or karma or whatever you want to call it. Her name, it can’t be a coincidence. It means something and Sidney knows then that they are going to do whatever they can to help Natalia, even if she doesn't end up wanting them to take her child.

“Okay.”

Okay?” Geno asks, voice thick and hopeful.

“Schedule a meeting with her for the first off day after the team gets back. I want to meet her. We’ll go from there,” Sid says evenly. “Okay?”

“Yes, okay, I go back, tell Miss Veronica now. So glad, Sid. I hope…” He doesn’t finish his sentence and Sidney doesn’t need him to.

“Me too, babe. I gotta get on the bus, but I’ll call you before we head out from the hotel, alright?”

They say their goodbyes, and Sidney steps onto the bus, ignoring the curious looks from his teammates as he slides into his seat behind the bus driver. His heart is pounding as he stares out the window, watching the New York skyline fly past. Sid allows himself to imagine life post-Penguins, with a baby and Geno and hockey school in Pittsburgh. It’s a little overwhelming, knowing that they might actually have a child before the season’s over, that no matter what the media might say, regardless if they win or lose the next game, Sid and Geno are taking steps in order to move forward with their retirement plans. The Pens are on their way to a playoff run, and, incredibly, right now Sidney cares more about making a good impression on Natalia than making top seed in the Metropolitan division. Not that he doesn’t want both, of course, but it has only been in the last decade, during his time with Geno, that Sidney’s allowed himself to find joy outside of hockey. It’s a heady feeling, excitement tinged with good, old-fashioned anxiety, one that Sid carries with him the rest of their road trip. When Sidney scores once that night and twice against the Rangers the next night, he looks up at the nearest camera, perched over the net, and points directly at the red light flashing light before his teammates find him for hugs and celebration. He wants Geno to know he’s doing all this for them, for the life they have created and continue to build and, ultimately, for the family they will become.

Natalia is tall and dark-haired, her small, rounded belly accentuated by the t-shirt and jeans she is wearing as she stands holding her cell phone in hand on their front porch the first Monday of February. Geno greets her in Russian, and invites her into the foyer before enfolding her hand in two of his.  

“So glad to meet, Natalia,” Geno says, guiding them all into the living room. “Want something to drink? To eat? Tea?”

“Yes, please, tea would be fine,” Natalia answers, trying to look inconspicuous as she gazes up and down the hallways of the house that Sid and Geno had built a few years after they were married. Miss Veronica informed them that she had kept their identities a secret, per their request and Sid isn’t sure if she recognized them at the front door, but the way she’s staring at Geno’s framed jersey, the huge 71 emblazoned on the back, he’s pretty sure she’s figured it out by now. Natalia doesn’t mention hockey, though, she simply follows Sid toward the sitting room and settles herself into the lounge chair before looking at Sid squarely in the eye. “Very nice house, Mister Crosby-Malkin,” she says, nodding her thanks at Geno, who sets a tea tray down on the coffee table between them. He pours three cups and hands them out with a shy smile and sits down next to Sid on the couch.

“Oh,” Sid starts. “You should call me Sidney.”

“And Zhenya, of course,” Geno adds.

“Sidney, Zhenya, you may call me Natasha, please. I am so glad to meet more Russians in Pittsburgh,” Natalia admits and her English is impeccable. “I moved here four years ago for medical school and even now, I do not know many people from home.” Her voice is wistful and full of the same longing that Geno had when he first moved to America. “It is very important to me that this child not forget her Russian heritage,” Natalia adds, then covers her mouth, eyes wide. “Oh no, I was not supposed to tell you…”

“Is a girl?” Geno asks softly, a small smile tugging at his lips that Sidney can’t help but reflect. They had confessed to one another, in the darkness and solitude of their bedroom, that they would like a baby girl to love and spoil, but also know that some things cannot be determined and had long ago agreed to be happy with whatever they were gifted. This feels like something meant to be. This feels like fate.

“No, no, it’s fine, that’s--she’s--perfect,” Sidney grabs Geno’s hand because he has to anchor himself in his husband, his heart pounding in his chest. When he notices Natalia glance at their interlaced fingers, he clears his throat and asks the question that has been on his mind since they asked to meet with her. “Is this, I mean, us, being two men. Is that going to be a problem?” Sid asks, trying and failing to ignore the swoop in his stomach as she chews on her lip, looking back and forth between the two of them with a level gaze.

“I want this baby to be loved and cared for. I trust that you both are very capable of doing both,” Natalia says with calculated ease. “America is very different from Russia, and I came here to help people and to learn about the world,” she continues. “One thing I have discovered while living in America is that sexuality means little when it comes to love. Even though Miss Hernandez did not mention you were Pittsburgh’s reigning hockey kings, she did tell me I would be meeting two men married to one another. For a decade, now, correct?” She looks at Geno, who nods and squeezes Sid’s hand. “That is an amazing accomplishment, regardless of gender or sexuality,” Natalia adds and Sid hears Geno suck in a breath. It is his biggest fear, that no nice Russian girl would want to give her baby to them, because of the conservative and homophobic culture still rampant in Russia. To hear Natalia say that she accepts them, that she trusts them, Sidney knows it means the world to Geno. “So,” Natalia says, placing her tea cup onto the table and pulling a small notebook from her purse. “I have a few questions for you.”

They sit for almost three hours, talking and getting to know each other. Natalia came to Pittsburgh to become a surgeon and is only halfway through her education. She isn’t in a longterm relationship and when she found out she was pregnant, waffled between having an abortion and giving the child up for adoption, ultimately choosing the later after weeks of consideration and reassurances from her advisor at the hospital that they would do whatever they could to make her school load manageable during her pregnancy. Geno talks to Natalia about Magnitogorsk and she tells him of Petrozavodsk, the town where she grew up, near St. Petersburg. Magnitka is a steel town and Petrozavodsk is an iron town, both full of family and friends, but not much opportunity. They commiserate about _real_ Russian food, and Sidney gives his two cents about Moscow, which is where he and Geno spend most of their time when they travel in the summer. After small talk and a pot of tea, Natalia asks to see the house, and so they walk her around the house to show her the in-law suite and four bedrooms.

“We’ve got rooms for the baby and a nanny,” Sid adds, opening the door to what he and Geno have already decided will be the nursery. It is empty of furniture, walls painted a bright yellow with a clean, white trim. There is a door against one of the walls, and Sid turns the handle and pushes to reveal the master bedroom, where he and Geno sleep.

“The nanny’s room is across the hall and there’s a room for my sister downstairs,” Sid tells Natalia. He’s spent a lot of time on this house over the years, first building the in-law suite off the west wing of the house, then making sure the pool was fenced in and the house pretty much permanently baby-proofed so his teammates and their families could come over and not have to worry about safety. After two very public flops in terms of houses when he was a younger man, this home that he and Geno have created together is a point of pride for Sidney, a place where they can raise their family, build a future.

“You have a lovely home, Sidney, Zhenya,” Natalia tells them, a soft, honest smile on her face. “It will be a wonderful place to raise a child,” she adds. Sidney has to duck his head for a moment, to hide the prickle of tears that spring up in his eyes, unbidden. There is something a lot like hope building in his core, and, while part of him wants to push it deep down so that he doesn’t get hurt, another, more insistent part of him wants to cling to it and never let go.

“Thank you very much, Natasha,” Geno answers for him, placing a light hand on the small of Sidney’s back. “Sid and I work hard for baby, even before we have. Want to show, umm, _Nasha ubezhdennost_ _,_ how you say?”

Natalia closes her eyes, a small wrinkle forming between her eyebrows as she thinks. Her English is much better than Geno’s has ever gotten, even after working in North America for twenty years. Her eyes fly open as she murmurs under her breath a few Russian words that Sidney can’t understand. When she looks at them, finally, she beams, glaring white teeth against the bright pink artificial color of her lips. “Conviction,” Natalia answers, shaking her head and laughing a little. “The word is conviction.”

Natalia leaves before noon In order to get a jump on traffic, and they walk her out to her car, where she thanks them politely for allowing her into their home and for tea.

“No, thank you,” Sidney emphasizes. “We hope you got everything you need,” is all he says. He doesn’t want to impose or force a decision with his words. Sidney’s always preferred to let his actions speak for him, and he hopes that what he and Geno have done and are willing to do for the future of their child will be enough. Before Natalia goes, Geno speaks with her in Russian for a few moments and then she’s in her car and down the road. Sidney’s not sure when or if they will hear from her again and his discontent must show on his face, because Geno slides and arm across his shoulder and pecks a kiss to his forehead. The February air is chilly, and Geno herds them both back inside, into the kitchen, putting on another kettle of water to boil and rinsing out their mugs from earlier. When the tea is ready, they congregate to the living room, cups in hand. A fire is already crackling, so they snuggle down deep into the couch cushions, not bothering to turn on any lights. Geno pulls his favorite Steelers throw blanket up over their legs and holds his mug in both hands, bringing it close to his face, the steam billowing up, warm and sweet.

“So,” Geno starts. His voice is soft in the still of the room. The weather woman predicted snow for this evening, and Sidney can see the clouds outside begin to gather and darken and he thinks of Natalia, driving back down the highway towards the University and her apartment and hopes she’s safe. That the baby’s safe. “What you think?” The question is simple but the answer is not. Sidney _wants._ He knows Geno does too, by the careful evenness of his tone, the way he keeps himself so still, a little hunched into himself, as if he thinks that if the universe notices him, all he has will be stripped away. It’s a far cry from the confident way he holds himself on the ice and reminds Sid of the Geno he first met on Mario’s doorstep.  Sidney sets both their mugs onto the coffee table and wraps his arms around his husband.

“She’s wonderful.”

“Yes, I think so too.” Geno takes a shuddering breath and Sidney tightens his hold on Geno’s waist, leaning in to rest his head on Geno’s shoulder.

“Waiting is going to be hard.”

“Most hard,” Geno agrees.

“But there’s nothing more we could have done to show her we are ready.”

“I know this, but it still…”

“It’s still scary as shit.”

Yes,” Geno sighs. “Not want to fuck this up.”

“You couldn’t,” Sid looks up at Geno, to make sure that he’s listening. “You were amazing. You two have a lot in common. She likes you,” he adds. “If anyone is gonna clinch this, it’s you. I’m an awkward hockey husband, at best, a control freak at worst.” He lifts up his hand when Geno goes to disagree. “All I’m saying is, nobody’s perfect, G.”

“You not freak,” Geno interrupts, glaring at Sid, daring him to disagree.

Sidney rolls his eyes but concedes. “I know, I know. What I mean to say is, if we work together, try our best and want this enough, it’ll happen,” he says. “We can do anything when we play as a team.”

Geno groans and kisses Sidney on the forehead, lips brushing lightly against the curls there. “Hockey metaphors for everything, Captain.”

Sid blushes and swats lightly at Geno. “Shut up. I’m trying to wrap my mind around it, same as you.” He bites his lip and squints at Geno before blurting out, “And technically, that’s not a metaphor.”

Geno makes a long suffering noise before lifting his hand to Sid’s jaw to cup his face lightly and leaning in to brush a kiss to his lips. Sidney sighs into Geno’s mouth, taking comfort in the familiar slide of tongue, the taste of tea and honey that lingers there, sweet and warm. When Geno places one of his hands on the back of Sidney’s head to bring him closer to maneuver them into a more comfortable position, Sid grunts and shifts so that he is on his knees, facing Geno, who takes that as an invitation to release Sid’s face and slide both hands down to his ass.

“Sid,” Geno moans, squeezing the firm muscles and thumbing at his crack through the denim of Sid’s dark black jeans. “Sexy pants off,” Geno mumbles, already tugging at the hem of Sid’s black henley.

“You too,” Sid orders as he stands to strip off his pants, kicking off his jeans and boxers in one clumsy movement. He glances up when Geno stands, crowding into his space and unbuckling his khakis, letting them fall to the floor while unbuttoning his white dress shirt, never taking his eyes off Sid as he kicks out of his tangled pants. Even before his shirt is off, Geno is bending down to kiss Sid, pressing their chests together, his dick hard and wet against Sid’s stomach.

“Your mouth,” Geno whispers. “So fucking perfect for me.”

“Yeah?” Sidney asks, pushing Geno back down onto the couch and settling between his legs, a couch cushion under him as he places one hand on each of Geno’s knees and spreads them apart, looking up at Geno through dark lashes when he asks, “Want me to blow you?”

“Fuck,” Geno groans, letting his head fall back, breath coming in short, shallow puffs of air. “Yes.”

The skin of Geno’s inner thigh is soft and milky white, devoid of hair and rarely exposed to the sun, especially at this time of year. Sidney places an open-mouthed kiss there and let’s his teeth scrape the skin, relishing the sound of Geno sucking in a breath and shivering underneath his touch. Snow has begun to fall outside, and the room is dark and cold, save the light flickering from the fire. When Sid shivers, Geno grabs the blanket they had been using and drapes it across Sid’s shoulders, so it falls down to cover his back.

“Better?” Geno asks, hand coming down from where it lies across the back of the couch to run fingers through Sid’s hair.

“Yes,” is all Sid says before swallowing Geno’s cock, the salty tang filling his mouth as he closes his eyes and takes Geno down. Geno’s hand twitches, resting lightly on Sid’s head, barely touching the hair there. On an upstroke with his mouth, Sid presses his head into Geno’s hand, and hums contentedly when Geno tightens his grip, scritching lightly at his scalp.

“Sid,” Geno stretches the single syllable word out into a long, low groan and Sid rewards him with a swirl of his tongue around the shaft, letting the gathered spit drop down to Geno’s balls, where Sid rubs it into the skin with his thumb. “Dirty,” Geno whispers. When Sid opens his eyes to look up, Geno is gazing at him, lids heavy, mouth open, tongue darting out to lick his lips. Sid raises an eyebrow and smirks around Geno’s dick as best he can before biting gently at the tip with his teeth and scraping them down the side of Geno’s cock, eyes glued to Geno, who is thrusting gently into Sid’s mouth, even though Sid has his arms resting across his thighs.

“Gonna come fast, you keep doing that,” Geno groans. Sid takes the warning for a challenge and begins working Geno hard and fast with both his mouth and hand, letting the spit trickle down his chin to his knuckles and Geno’s balls. He can feel Geno’s eyes on him, but he doesn’t look up, too busy concentrating on taking shallow breaths through his nose so he doesn’t gag when he feels Geno on the back of his throat. He lets his eyes fall close and focuses on the weight of Geno on his tongue, the sounds that Geno makes above him, the twitching of Geno’s thighs. When Geno’s fingers tighten in his hair, Sid backs off, letting the come coat his lips and his chin, mouth open and panting as he scrambles to get a hand on himself. He wipes off his mouth and grabs his dick, his hand slicked up with Geno’s come, and pumps furiously half a dozen times and then he’s coming, face planted in Geno’s thigh.       

When they’ve cleaned off and are cuddled together on the couch, Sid with his head resting on Geno’s shoulder, Geno with his arm wrapped tightly across Sid’s shoulders, holding him close, Sid chances to look up at his husband, who smiles at him and leans down to kiss him slow and sweet.

“Whatever happens, G, we’re in this together, right?” He doesn’t mean to sound so fragile, but he knows that his voice is wobbly, a little raspy.

If Geno notices, he doesn’t mention it, just hums an affirmative against Sidney’s mouth, thumbing at his lips before kissing them again. “Together,” he promises, settling against Sidney, his presence a constant that Sidney counts on and hopes he never takes for granted.

_/\\_

They hear from Miss Veronica after two very stressful weeks, during which the Penguins go on a three-game losing streak, Sidney eats half a cheesecake to himself, makes Geno jog seven miles with him and then eats the other half of the cheesecake, and Geno gets a Gordie Howe hat trick against Dallas.

“Natalia loved you guys,” Veronica says when they sit down in her downtown office on a rainy Friday morning. There’s half finished cup of coffee on Veronica’s desk, still steaming, colored a light milky brown. “But she had agreed to meet another couple, whom she also liked, but ultimately,” Veronica tells them. “She liked that Geno is Russian, and that you two visit there on a regular basis. The other family,” She starts, and Sid wonders if she’s gauging how much she should say. “Did not,” is all Veronica adds after a beat. “We’ll set up another meeting, this time at my office next week?” She looks between Sid and Geno. “I already have your schedules, remember?” Veronica continues and Sid is so glad that she had the foresight back when they first started working together to ask for access to their work calendar. “You’re home on the Monday the 26th, which is perfect for the courts to get legal proceeds rolling.” Sid looks at Geno, who is nodding along gamely enough, but has Sid’s hand in a death grip. The process seems so fast, nothing like they had initially thought. They’d only had a few weeks to plan for this, and they’d done so tentatively, telling Management and the front offices, in case there needed to be a press release, letting their families and friends know that they had something in the works. Still, even though Sid had spent at least a dozen hours in the last month researching local nannies so that he and Geno might pick their top three _just in case,_  it only feels real now, with morning traffic blaring outside the window and Geno’s long fingers interlaced with his. “So you wanna get started, guys?” Veronica asks, eyes wide as she takes a sip from her mug, eyebrow raised.

Sidney looks over at Geno. His expression belies no doubt or fear, just, pure, unadulterated joy. Sidney feels his face break out into a grin, one he knows is probably a bit lopsided, false teeth and all.

“Yes,” Sidney says around a crooked smile, eyes never leaving Geno’s. “Let’s do this.” Geno grins at him, eyes glistening.

“Want so much,” Geno rushes out and Sid feels a lump forming in his throat that he has to swallow down.

“That’s great, gentlemen!” Veronica exclaims. “Now, we have about a hundred more pieces of paper to go through and, oh, yes, Natalia has a doctor’s appointment this afternoon at four. If you agree to the arrangement, she’d like you to start coming to the appointments, so that you can bond and be in the loop for any and all medical decisions. Agreed?”

“Y-yes, I mean, of course,” Sidney turns to Geno searching his face for confirmation.

“Okay,” Geno responds, fingers twitching, Sidney’s sure to get on the phone and call his Russian connections and get the preparations underway. Sidney, though, goes through the rest of the meeting in a haze, nodding when Geno squeezes his hand and signing the papers Veronica puts in front of him. They agree to pay her medical bills, and a weekly allowance for food and transportation. Natalia won’t move in with them, opting to stay in her apartment near the university in order to continue attending classes until the end of the spring semester, in mid-March. In a flurry of _thank-yous_ and calendar syncing, right there in Veronica’s downtown office, Geno calls Natalia, his voice a soft, soothing rumble of Russia, as he writes down pertinent information in sloppy, slanted, Cyrillic and smiles at Sid out of the corner of his mouth.

 _“Muy schastlivy takzhe. Skoro uvidimsya, Natasha.”_ Geno gives Sid a perfunctory nod, as if Sid is following along with Geno’s half of the conversation, which Sid obviously cannot, because it’s all in Russian. Sid grimaces, raises his eyebrows, and tries to look encouraging while Geno finishes his conversation. “We go to UPMC at three, meet doctor, get new baby tour, go to appointment,” Geno turns to him, switching to English when he hangs up and standing to exchanging pleasantries with their caseworker. He grabs Sid’s hand and leads them to the parking lot, chattering about decorating the nursery, seeing the pregnancy ward at the hospital, getting a picture of the ultrasound. When they get to the car, Sid tosses the keys to Geno, still a little shaky with nerves, and settles into the passenger seat, fiddling with the radio stations until Geno switches on his Bluetooth and begins to stream soft Russian pop from the app on his phone.

“You okay, Sid? Not look so good,” Geno frowns, glancing across the seat at Sid.

“Eyes on the road,” Sid retorts. His heart is pounding in his chest again, a steady thrum, as if he just came off a shift. It’s got his breath coming shallow and fast.

“Baby’s coming, Sid, no need for bad mood,” Geno says, tapping his fingers in time with the music. “We gonna get little Russian _printsessa_ _.”_ Geno takes a hand off the wheel to squeeze Sidney’s knee. “Little baby Crosby-Malkina,” he adds, easy as ever and it’s too much for Sid. He jerks away from Geno and turns to stare at him.

“How are you not freaking out about this?” The car is silent for a moment in between songs and Sid can hear his heartbeat in his ears, loud as ever.  “How are you so calm?” He repeats. “What do we even know about raising a baby? We were supposed to have time to adjust, to prepare. Now we have two months. Two!” Now that Sid’s started talking, he can’t seem stop. His voice is turning shrill, he knows it but he can’t help from adding, “April is playoffs, Geno, what the fuck are we supposed to do with a baby during playoffs?” It’s the first time he’s said anything like that out loud, but he’s got to say something now, before they meet Natalia and sign the papers and get a baby that they don’t even know how to take care of properly. “We’re hockey players, for fuckssake,” Sid says, fiddling with the hem of his jacket, not looking up.

Next to him, Geno sucks in a breath, but he doesn’t say anything, gathering his English in a way Sid knows means that he wants to be clear. He doesn’t speak until they get onto the highway, turning onto the familiar road back across the bright yellow bridge to Sewickley. 

"Sidnyusha,” Geno starts. They’re stuck in a line of traffic and Geno is looking at Sid with dark, eyes furrowed at the brow. At ten in the morning, the traffic to Sewickley from the Three Rivers building is thick, horns honking sporadically enough that each new noise makes Sid’s heart pound in his chest, a burst of adrenaline running through his veins each time. “We plan for this. We retire in June, no matter what. School open in June, no matter what. Me and you, we ready. Natasha want for us to have this baby. I want this baby.” He pauses. “You not want?” Geno’s voice is shaky and Sid feels a hot rush of shame that he’s pushed his anxiety onto him.

“Zhenya,” Sid starts and stops, sucking in two wet breaths before the words will come. Through the entire process, Sidney’s been fairly even-keeled, organizing and planning as much as he can for every possible scenario because it’s in his nature to do so. Sid reasons, he’s been on some pretty big stages, he’s always been able to handle a bit of nerves. Hell, he’s won Olympic gold medals, the Stanley Cup, the World Cup, and his individual achievements in hockey alone are too many to count--he’s even got an Emmy. But a baby, gaining this chance, well, it feel like the victory of all of those accomplishments combined. The fact that he gets to do all of it with Geno by his side, knowing that they have arrived at this point together, and, after all the hockey is said and done, will soon have a family together, is equal parts wonderful and terrifying. When he was a kid, he never envisioned being able to have it all--hockey, a family, Geno. Coming out in the NHL hadn’t been easy but they’d gotten through it and paved the way for others and lightened the load for players who might otherwise not have had the resources to do so. It feels good to know he’s helped his sport in that way, even if it wasn’t what he set out to do, and when Sidney looks back on what he’s accomplished, it all seems too good to be true.

“I’m scared. Honestly, G, this feels like the biggest thing I’ve ever done.” The pressure in his chest feels like a vice, his unspoken fears threatening to overwhelm him. “I want this so much, but what if, what if I suck at this? What if I suck at being normal? What if I can’t be anything but a hockey player?” He trails off when Geno grabs his hand and brings it up to his lips for a feather-light brush of his lips against Sid’s knuckles.

“Baby, you gonna be great. We do this together, like everything. Like always,” Geno murmurs. They’re pulling into their driveway and Geno throws the truck into park, quickly hopping out and jogging around to Sid’s side to open the door. Sid slides off the seat and as soon as his feet hit the ground, Geno’s arms envelop him, tugging Sidney into his chest where he buries his face before Geno can see the hot tears welling up in his eyes. He can feel more than hear Geno rumbling in Russian, his chest vibrating with words that Sidney doesn’t understand, but doesn’t really need to.

“I’m being stupid.”

“Not stupid.”

“We have things to do, I can’t…”

“You can.”

“I shouldn’t…”

“Sid, quiet.”

Sid sighs and relaxes into Geno’s hold. The tension in his shoulders slowly bleeds out as Geno rubs a gentle hand up and down his spine with one hand, scritching at the back of his neck with the other.

“We gonna go inside, we gonna lie down on the couch and watch bad tv and take a nap.” Before Sid can protest, Geno shushes him with a finger on his lips.  “We take very short nap,” he illustrates with his fingers pinched together. “And then we go see Natasha, see baby.” Sid hums against Geno’s chest, all the fight gone out of him. He actually could use a little bit of a nap. “Future coming if we ready or not, Sid, but we ready. You ready.” Geno tips his face up, hand wrapped around Sid’s jaw, eyes searching Sid’s face. He must be satisfied with what he sees, because he smiles and dips down to place a chaste kiss, pressing his lips against Sid's once, twice, three times before pulling him close again and resting his chin in Sid’s hair. “Changes can be good, sometime, Sid, _znayesh_?” He chuckles and tightens his arms around Sidney’s waist, fingers twisting the fabric of Sid’s tucked shirt. “You remember we go out for first game? We both want to go last, you freak out.” Sid makes a noise of protest but Geno ignores him, full on laughing. “You say you like things stay the same, you not want to change routines.” His voice evens out and he sounds more serious. “But I say we make new routine, we do together and you,” Geno leans back to look down into Sid’s eyes, face soft and open. “You say okay. You brave. You do.” Sid has to snake his arms around Geno’s neck and pull him down for a kiss then, because he does remember. He remembers being so scared of messing up but trusting in Geno to have his back, literally and figuratively. Before then, Sidney hadn’t found anyone on any team that he trusted as much as he trusted Geno. He’d never felt that he could turn his back on any of them and believe that they would be there if he needed them to be. Not until Geno. From that day forward, Geno has been the one person that has shared in Sid’s responsibilities, his pressures, his pains and, of course, all the joyous parts of the long, shared, road. Of course they can do this, if they do it together. “I think I love you a little bit, even then,” Geno whispers against Sid’s mouth. “I’m want you to always know I have your back. Not feel alone, when we rookies, when we old, not matter to me. Love you. I’m here, with you, forever.”

Sid lets Geno herd him inside, where he obediently goes to the couch and turns on the television while Geno makes them tea. By the time Geno sits down next to him, Sid is listing, the throw across his lap, feet tucked underneath himself, watching some nature program he’s sure Geno will get sucked into soon. Geno settles down into his space on the couch and manhandles Sid so that his feet are resting on Geno’s lap, his back against the couch arm, cup in hand. When he’s satisfied, Geno grabs his own mug and they sit in silence, sipping tea and watching a show about the African plains until Sid can’t hold his eyes open any longer. He feels Geno grab the empty glass from his hands and then maneuvers Sid into lying down until they are pressed flush against one another, Geno solid at his back.

“I love you,” Sidney murmurs, lids heavy, voice thick with sleep already.

“Love you too, Sidnyusha. Everything gonna be okay,” Geno says into the skin of Sidney’s neck. “Sleep.”

_/\\_

Irina Evgeniya Crosby-Malkin is born on the morning of Monday, April 10th, the same day the Penguins start the first round with home-ice advantage against the Columbus Blue Jackets. Sid and Geno are both able to be at the hospital that morning, but both insist on playing, after the nurses and Natalia assure them the baby will spend most of the day sleeping and going through the typical first-day tests. The Penguins announce the baby’s birth on the Team Twitter account, and put a picture of Geno and Sid holding Irina in the hospital up on the scoreboard before puck drop, to the delight of the crowd. The team is flying, and Geno nets one in the first thirty seconds, Sid, two minutes later. The Blue Jackets really have no chance after that. The Penguins win their first playoff game of the post season 5-0, with Geno getting the empty netter for a total of three points that night and the atmosphere is electric. After the game, the new fathers skip the media scrum, with Jake, Connor and Muzz staving off reporters so that they can get out of the locker room and to UPMC as fast a possible. By the time they arrive, it’s almost midnight, but the staff sends them to Natalia’s room, where she’s up and feeding the baby with a bottle. When she sees them, she motions them over and hands the bottle to Sidney.

“You want to feed your daughter?” Natalia asks quietly. Her voice is tired but she looks happy and healthy, Sid feel a wave of gratitude wash over him that causes his throat to close up for a moment before he can choke out a quiet _yes_. With Geno at his elbow, Sid cradles Irina in his arms, careful to hold her tiny head in his hand as he gently presses the nipple of the bottle into her lips. She latches onto it with vigor and Geno huffs a wet laugh, reaching up to poke at her palm with his finger until she wraps her hand around it.

“ _Krasivaya. Idealno. Irishka, moya detka, Papa tebya lyubit,_ ” Geno says, voice low. “Love you very much,” he adds, kissing Sidney’s forehead and letting his lips linger there.

“I love you too,” Sidney says, to both of them, to Irina and Geno, his family, his future, his home.

 

 

_________________

 **Translations**  

 **Nasha ubezhdennost:** We have conviction

 **Muy schastlivy takzhe. Skoro uvidimsya** : We are happy also. We will see you soon

 **printsessa** : princess

 **znayesh** : You know

 **Krasivaya** : beautiful

 **Idealno** : perfect

 **Irishka, moya detka, Papa tebya lyubit** : Irina, my baby girl, daddy loves you 


	3. Epilogue

"Don't you think the three-foot tall black and yellow balloon letters that spell out 'Irina' might be a little too much, G?" Sid asks as he surveys their backyard. There are black, yellow and pink decorations everywhere, with the _pièce de résistance_ balloon sculpture of their daughter's name smack-dab in the middle of everything. "This is more gaudy than all of your birthday parties before we got married, combined," Sid adds, preemptively moving away from the shoulder punch Geno tries to land. "I'm just saying. It's her first birthday. She's not even going to remember that we had a petting zoo, a face-painter and huge, stuffed tigers for every kid, let alone a humungous balloon sculpture of her name."

"We take pictures, show her when she older. Tell her Papa loves her best and Daddy is big grouch, like always," Geno answers.

Sid narrows his eyes. "I'm not a grouch, I'm pragmatic."

"Don't know what that means, but probably is  _grouch_."

"Shut it, Malkin."

Geno turns to Sid, tongue poking out of the side of his mouth as he says, "Make me, Crosby."

Sid makes a big show of looking at his watch. Geno huffs a laugh and grabs him by the waist, reeling him in for a kiss that has Sid weak in the knees and he thinks, _Fuck it._ The party decorations are set and ready for their guests, who will arrive in about an hour. The caterer has already come and gone. They've got the house as ready as it's going to get and Irina is fed and down for her nap.

"Which gives us approximately thirty minutes before my parents get here with your parents," Sid explains, breathless. "Baby's sleeping, so, if you want..." He trails off when Geno kisses him again, this time, a little wet, a little sloppy. 

"I want," Geno confirms, tugging at Sid's hand and pulling him close. "I want for sure," he adds. "Don't need more than ten minutes, you the one who wastes half your time locking all the doors," he says as he steers Sid toward the house. "Hurry up, Sid," Geno complains when Sid stalls to put on the alarm. "Need to do Gump password, one Forrest one!" 

"Oh god," Sid groans. "You're dad jokes have only gotten worse now that you actually are a dad, you know that?" 

"I know this," Geno says, shrugging as he leads Sidney to their bedroom upstairs. "You love." 

"Fucken hell, I really do though," Sid grumbles, biting back a grin. 

Geno tugs off his shirt and winks at Sidney. "Yes, I best,  _moy muzh_. _Nov, pazhalosta, tay golyy, Sidnyusha,_   _do togo kak ya umru."_

"You take it off me, then, if you're in such a hurry."

"Be the death of me," Geno mumbles, nimble fingers already unbuckling Sid's fly.

"You love," Sid says, biting his lip to keep from grinning.

"Use my own words against, not fair, Crosby."

"Never been known for fighting fair. Ask anybody."

"You such jerk."

"You could be using that mouth for more important things, is all I'm saying."

"Such jerk," Geno repeats, shaking his head before taking Sid into his mouth. Sid hums a contented sigh, and allows himself to lean all the way back onto their bed, head propped up on a pillow so he can see Geno's mouth stretched around his cock, his lips shiny with spit. It's too much and not enough and Sidney has to shut his eyes as the sensation of hot, wet pressure around his dick begins to ignite a fire deep in his belly. His hand ends up threaded through Geno's hair, the shag and shadow of a solidarity playoff beard just beginning to show. The stubble scratches the inside of Sid's thigh on the down stroke of Geno's mouth, his skin sensitive and tender there. 

"Feel so good, G. I'm gonna--"

Geno hums, his throat constricting around Sid's cock as he swallows. "My turn," he rasps, voice low as he leans back and palms his own dick.

"Oh fuck, that's so hot."

"Less talk, more suck, please."

"You're always so polite when you're about to get your dick sucked."

"Maybe suck more, be nicer."

Sidney snorts before scrambling down the bed and placing his hands on either of Geno's thighs, wrapping a hand around Geno's already hard cock. "Doubt it."

"Miss one hundred percent of shots you not take, Crosby. Should try, at least."

"Seriously, you have the worst dad jokes," Sid says, sticking his tongue out to lave at the wet spot on Geno's tip and then swallowing him down, getting lost in the rhythm and taste of Geno underneath him, the sound of Geno's constant narrative above him, words of praise, pet names and phrases that frequent their conversations, along with some incredibly dirty Russian words that Sid recognizes.

When Geno comes, though, he only says one word. 

"Sid." He sighs it into the silence of their bedroom, the name wrenched out of him as his orgasm overtakes him. Shaking and sweaty, Geno gathers Sidney into his arms, pulling him onto his chest and settling him as their breath begins to slow and sync. The quiet is broken by a soft whimper crackling through the baby monitor next to the bed. 

"She's up," Sid whispers only a second before the doorbell rings. "Shit. I'll get the door, you get Irishka?" He asks, already pushing himself off of Geno and grabbing his clothes from the floor. After a perfunctory glance in the mirror he knows he is going to have to come back upstairs to fix his sex hair, but he heads toward the door, anyway, buttoning his shirt on his way down the stairs. At the door, his mom and dad, Natalia, Vladimir and Taylor are chattering and laughing, and turn to him with smiles that brighten considerably when he realizes Geno is standing behind him, a sleepy but happy Irina in his arms. 

"You see grandmas and grandpas today, baby, say hello," Geno tells Irina, who babbles and waves her hand in the direction of her grandparents. The group comes in and gathers around the baby, with Sid and Geno standing off to the side, watching their family coo over Irina's yellow and black tulle skirt with matching Crosby-Malkin jersey, a gift from Taylor, with the numbers **871** emblazoned on the back. Sidney leans into Geno, wrapping an arm around his waist and leaning up to whisper in his ear.

"You think we should tell them we're adopting a second kid?" Sid asks, voice low so only Geno can hear.

"We tell the group tonight, everyone together."

Sidney grins, face tucked into Geno's neck. "I can't believe we're going to have another one."

"Always know you make best dad," Geno pauses to pull away from Sid and look into his eyes, mouth twitching with the hint of a smile. "After me." 

**THE END**

 

 

** _Translations_ **

__**moy muzh:** my husband_ _

_**_Nov, pazhalosta, tay golyy, Sidnyusha,_  ** _**do togo kak ya umru** : now, please, get naked, Sid, before I die_ _

**Author's Note:**

> Translations are all my own, so if I messed up, OOPS!! 
> 
> I didn't mean to write a retirement fic, honestly, I didn't, but as this season began to wind down, even before they won the Cup, I started thinking about trades and contracts and, well, this is where my mind went. 
> 
>  
> 
> Thanks for reading )))  
>  
> 
> The title comes from "Rivers and Roads" by The Head and the Heart.


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